


Holy hands, oh they make me a sinner

by blue_wonderer



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hand Kink, M/M, Mirror Sex, PWP, Smut, coldflash - Freeform, here's smut ok b cool guys, slight praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 16:21:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11993466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_wonderer/pseuds/blue_wonderer
Summary: Barry has a thing for Len's hands.Leonard obliges.





	Holy hands, oh they make me a sinner

“This wasn’t here last week,” Barry informs him when Leonard re-enters the bedroom. The room glows with mid-morning light, a little early for Barry to be up on a day off, and Leonard spares a moment to regret that he missed the warm pliancy of the speedster upon waking. He glances to the rumpled sheets and askew bed covers, sketching in details from memories, creating the scene that he missed. Barry Allen waking slow and easy, sleep-soaked with half-closed eyes. Skin hot, wide mouth open and inviting. He imagines the way Barry’s body might unfurl, sweet and needy, at Leonard’s first touch.

Now he eyes the way Barry stands next to the dresser with his head tilted, studying the mirror that occupies more than half of the bedroom wall Leonard had it mounted on and, with no small amount of anticipation and self-satisfaction, he thinks to himself,  _“this will certainly do just as well.”_

Barry’s barefoot and shirtless. He’s also wearing Leonard’s jeans and he spends some time puzzling out the motives behind this. He wonders if Barry wore them on purpose (he had to, because the Flash suit is still crumpled on the floor), out of necessity, or if Barry is mistaking _thievery_ for _sentiment_ again. Either way, Leonard firmly decides that he likes the look and proceeds to plan ways to get Barry into more of his clothes. 

Barry huffs, annoyed at being summarily ignored, though he didn’t exactly ask a question. He looks at Leonard over his naked shoulder, brow creased just slightly in suppressed petulance as he points to the mirror. “Or last night. This definitely wasn’t here last night.” 

“It was here last night,” Leonard assures him with a smirk that makes his expression morph into an outright scowl. 

“No,” Barry insists, jabbing his finger at the offending object again for emphasis. “The big-ass mirror wasn’t there last night. I was here. I would remember a big-ass mirror.” 

Leonard feels his tight-lipped smile cut across his face as he stalks up to Barry, his own bare feet silent on the carpet as he approaches. He makes his movements slow, in part because it annoys the speedster, in part because it allows him time to read the situation—to read Barry. As always, the hero just chooses to watch and wait as Leonard circles closer, impatient but unworried, confident in his abilities. A rabbit with the heart of a lion. 

And, as always, Leonard’s first thought is: will this be the moment Barry runs? But it’s not. There will never be a moment when _Barry_ runs from whatever this is between them and he’s beginning to understand that (maybe even rely on it, which is a _bad idea_ ). He sees it now in the familiar, stubborn setting of Barry’s jaw and the heavy way he’s planted his feet, like he plans to grow roots right into Leonard’s bedroom floor. 

Assured that Barry is electing to play this out for now, Leonard starts predicting other potential moves. Will he turn to Leonard and smile before tugging him in for a kiss? Barry Allen is a _whore_ for kisses. Leonard estimates that there is about an eighty-five percent chance that any given encounter he has with Barry Allen will feature a kiss, be it during a casual passing in a coffee shop, an apocalyptic struggle against invading forces, or one of their explosive arguments. Barry might shrug the whole thing off as one of Leonard’s quirks and continue to get dressed. Leonard estimates that there is a strong thirty-nine percent chance of that, and if Barry decides to just roll with the big-ass mirror and Leonard’s non-answers he’ll shrug and turn away in four, three, two…

He doesn’t move, keeps watching Leonard, bright eyes glinting with the morning sun. In the next second Leonard sees why he hasn’t moved, why he’s waiting like idle prey in Leonard’s ever-tightening circle. Barry’s hard in _Leonard’s_ jeans, the outline of his bulge obvious. 

Leonard insinuates himself behind Barry, slotting them together skin-to-skin, propping his chin beside Barry’s neck as he snakes his arms around the younger man, one across his belly and one across his chest. Barry turns his head, searching for lips, but Leonard anticipates the attempt and evades to Barry’s other shoulder. 

Barry tries to turn in his arms, and huffs again when he finds the grip too tight to maneuver. He’s forced to look forward, into the mirror, to see Leonard behind him—to watch Leonard watch him. 

Pleased that Barry’s _finally_ looking at them both in the mirror, Leonard decides to reward him by lazily running his hand down Barry’s belly and over the fabric of the jeans. And then he traces the outline of Barry’s erection, watching green eyes widen and follow the movement of his long fingers in the mirror as if hypnotized. Leonard honestly can’t tell if the gasp that falls from wide lips is at his touch or at the sight of his hands teasing Barry. 

“Did you wake up like this?” Leonard muses out loud, watching Barry’s eyes dart only briefly to his before returning to the way his fingers cup and tease him through the rough material. “Or is it because you’re wearing _my_ jeans that you _stole_?” 

Barry only answers by biting his lip and rocking his hips forward into Leonard’s hand. He makes another attempt to turn in his arms but Leonard keeps him still. Barry’s eyes find his again in the mirror and he opens his mouth for biting commentary—though there is a twenty percent chance he’s about to beg, _“please, Len, get me off”_. But he stops and does neither of these things. 

Barry Allen. Reckless. Unfailingly good. And, sometimes, unpredictable. Leonard can see the moment the hero’s face shifts in enlightenment. 

“Len, you—” he breaks off when Len tries to distract him to by rubbing him over his jeans. Barry’s hips jerk, but he’s undeterred (but also doesn’t try to get him to stop). “You kinky shit,” he finishes breathlessly. “Can’t believe you installed this big-ass mirror this morning just so you can watch us have sex.” 

“It was there last night,” Leonard says again, finally giving in to the warm smell of Barry’s skin and moving to run teeth and kisses up and down the long column of his neck. “You were just too _busy_ to notice.” 

“I notice how you didn’t deny the ‘watching us have sex’ part,” Barry mutters and, because Leonard is looking, he sees the way a blush spreads deliciously across the young man’s cheeks and dusts the top of his ears. Under Leonard’s hand, Barry is so hard it must be bordering on painful. 

“I notice how you don’t have any objections,” Leonard responds. Barry’s pupils blow wide and hazy as he watches clever fingers pop open the button of his jeans and slide the zipper down. He reaches in to Barry’s underwear, lightly grasping his cock until the head, flushed and lovely, peeks over the elastic waistband. Beneath the hand resting on Barry’s chest, he feels Barry’s heartbeat ratchet up and breathing shorten to shallow panting.

He moves so his hand strokes Barry through the thin fabric of his underwear, fingers and thumb occasionally flicking teasingly at the leaking head. Barry’s breath hitches every time. Leonard licks a stripe up his neck, finally eliciting a loud, broken moan. 

“Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you like watching my hands,” he says and hears the aroused strain in his own voice as Barry shudders in silent admission. “So I thought that the _least_ I could do is provide you with a better view.” He bites harshly at the juncture of Barry’s neck and shoulder and then sucks soothingly at the bruise. 

“Oh,” Barry breathes. “I-It’s just for— _hmm_ —me, then? You don’t get anything out of it?” 

“Well,” he shrugs with a crooked grin, surprised by the intensity of the yearning in his own blue eyes when they flick up to meet Barry’s. “I’m a firm believer in win-win situations. I get to watch you watch _my_ hands take you apart.”

“Careful,” Barry chuckles, voice airy and deep in a way that makes lust rush viscerally through Leonard. “Your narcissist is showing.” 

Leonard responds to this by shoving the jeans and underwear down across Barry’s pale thighs and roughly cupping his balls, effectively cutting Barry off from further coherent sass while Leonard takes the time to slick a hand with the lube in the pocket of his sleep pants. 

(Though there had been multiple possibilities the moment Barry woke up this morning, there’d always been just one outcome.)

When he wraps his arms back around Barry and teases him with feather-soft touches, Barry’s breath catches on another moan in what, Leonard thinks, is probably one of the most erotic sounds in the world. The younger man’s fingers flex and move abortively, seeking purchase and finding none that doesn’t obscure his view of Leonard’s hands on him. Finally, he interlocks his fingers with the hand Leonard has over his chest in a gesture that is so suddenly and unabashedly intimate that it has Leonard pressing his forehead against the hot skin of Barry’s shoulder to hide the swell and crest of naked longing. 

“Please, Len,” Barry whispers, trembling in his arms. Leonard looks up to see Barry’s other hand raking fingernails across his own thigh and hip, leaving red streaks in their wake. Leonard groans softly at the sight, canting his hips so his clothed dick grinds against the swell of Barry’s ass. The younger man bites his lip against another obscene noise as he drops his head back against Leonard’s shoulder. 

He doesn’t once look away from the mirror, or even glance up from where Leonard’s hand fondles him. Leonard continues to bite and lick at Barry’s neck while he runs slick finger pads up and down Barry’s long shaft, pausing often to circle the head and tease the slit with his thumb. 

The top of Barry’s thighs begin to visibly shake, the flush on his face seems to make his eyes shine iridescent from beneath his lashes. Leonard can clearly see spit-shiny lips forming his name, even though no sound actually comes out. He can taste ozone in the air. 

He wonders if Barry could actually come from being teased like this. 

“So fucking pretty, Scarlet,” he says as he traces Barry’s cock and balls with one nimble finger. 

Barry _keens_. 

“So pretty,” he praises again. “And all for me, isn’t it? You’re going to give it to me?” 

“Yes, _yes_ , please just do it,” Barry pants out.

“Do what?” He finally palms Barry’s dick, himself shuddering at the tantalizing weight, and wraps one and then two long fingers around it. Barry tightens his grip on Leonard’s other hand and beneath his palm he feels the hum of Barry’s heart, pumping too fast for him to discern individual beats. He bites at Barry’s ear before murmuring into it, “What do you want me to do, Scarlet?” 

_“Anything,”_ Barry begs in a shameless rush that echoes in Leonard’s bones. 

He wraps the rest of his fingers around Barry, one by one, and grins triumphantly at the obscenities, alternatively coaxing and cursing, that spill from Barry’s lips.

Leonard jerks him off, quick and firm, and Barry scratches at his own skin and holds on to Leonard’s hand and thrusts roughly in his grip. 

He doesn’t even blink when Leonard pulls the first orgasm out of him, or when his knees buckle and Leonard takes his weight as his chest and belly heave with the build-up and release, or when the sudden climax punches wrecked sounds out of him. He just keeps watching, mesmerized with the way Leonard’s hand milks him. 

Barry’s still trying to catch his breath when he turns his head, silently asking for Leonard, who obliges with tender kisses. The angle is awkward but Barry hums contentedly anyway, though he tapers off quicker than Leonard expected. 

He opens his eyes, not realizing he’d closed them, to see that Barry is once again distracted by watching Leonard’s hands in the mirror. He’s running the one hand in a soothing path starting between Barry’s thighs, up to his hip, across his belly, and back again. 

Curious, and not a little desperate himself, Leonard lets one finger run lightly up Barry’s spent shaft. Barry curses, jerks away, oversensitive.

“You said anything, didn’t you?” Leonard asks, not bothering to hide the raspy need in his own voice. 

“L-Len,” Barry chokes out when Leonard experimentally touches him again. 

“You said you’d give this to me,” he taunts, moving his hand over Barry’s hip and in between their bodies to possessively grope the flesh of his ass. Without his hand to watch, Barry’s hazy, blissed-out eyes languorously travel up to meet his. “You said this was _mine_ ,” he continues, dipping his fingers in the crevice of Barry’s ass, immediately finding the tight hole and rubbing over it promisingly. “A hero shouldn’t go back on his word.”

The corner of Barry's mouth uplifts briefly, a sardonic expression surprisingly natural on a face made for grins and laughter, as his eyes shift slowly down and to the left, to the reflection of the Flash suit crumpled at the foot of a wrecked bed. Leonard follows his gaze. The cowl of the suit sits almost upright, empty eye sockets staring at them reprovingly. (Or at least, Leonard thinks with a thrill, he likes to think so.) 

Barry shivers. “ _Len._ Yeah. Whatever you want.” 

“I want,” Leonard says, staring hard at him. “You to watch as I open you up. I want to see the moment when you start fucking yourself on my fingers, because you’re too _desperate_ for it to just wait.” He reaches around, touches Barry again, and this time the younger man rolls almost shyly into his hand, cock beginning to harden again thanks to his miraculous refractory period. “And I want you to watch every second you _let me_ fuck you up against this mirror.” 

“Well,” Barry laughs hoarsely, the corner of his lips inching up in a wry curve. He clashes gazes, brash and _challenging_ , and at that look it’s Leonard who finds himself unbearably hard and impatient. The curve of Barry’s mouth deepens as he sees the effect he has. “When you put it _that_ way—”

If he has more to say, he’s cut off when Leonard suddenly turns them to the side and bends Barry over. Barry barely catches himself, hands slapping the wood surface of the dresser. He bares his teeth around a curse, head snapping over his shoulder to glare. He goes to push himself back upright, but Leonard firmly presses him down again. 

He leans over the ridiculously long, elegant stretch of Barry’s back, kisses him tenderly at the base of his neck and between his shoulders before he hisses, _“watch.”_

He slicks up his hand again, angles Barry so he can see his own ass when he looks over his shoulder. He’s still in Leonard’s jeans, though now they’re rucked down almost to his knees. He takes a moment to spread his fingers wide and stroke along Barry’s flank, admiring the contrast of colors, his rough calluses and scars against the softness of fine, smooth skin.

And then he eases the first finger in. 

In the mirror, Leonard can see _everything_. The way Barry’s tight hole takes in each knuckle, the way Barry’s stomach and chest heave with short breaths, the way the muscles of his thighs and back tense, release, and tense again. He can see the way Barry’s mouth drops open and those defiant eyes roll back in a mix of pain and lust. The way beading sweat rises and slides tantalizingly along his hairline. 

He moves in and out of incredible heat, unbearably slow at first, caught up in the way Barry sucks him in, in the red of Barry’s lips as he chews on them in a vain attempt to stop himself from crying out. 

He pushes in a second finger, watches the toes-to-fingers chain reaction in Barry’s body as he curses out a prayer for _Leonard_. He finally gives in and palms himself through the material of his sleep pants, letting out a frustrated rush of air when the touch is both a relief and a torture. Barry drops his head toward his forearms, keeping his eye on the mirror. 

As he watches Barry open to him, even as he starts losing himself to the desire to bury himself in Barry, some part of Leonard is still making plans. He imagines not being so desperate and taking the time to play. He imagines using his tongue until his jaw aches before _ruining_ Barry with his fingers. He’d use at least four, maybe more, and fuck Barry until he’s come at least twice, until he’s a puddle of bliss, weak and boneless and completely at his mercy. And then he’d make Barry see how wide and gaping and goddamned hungry he is for Leonard. He wonders if he could slap that hole, just so Barry could see how it might flutter. He wonders if Barry would _let him_. 

_That_ image has him pushing a third finger in without much preamble. Barry lets out a guttural noise and starts scrambling to push back on Leonard’s fingers, hissing when there’s not enough pressure and leverage to make it satisfactory. Desperate, Barry reaches down between his legs, but Leonard wrestles him up to face the mirror again before he can get a hold. Barry stumbles, disoriented, and slumps his weight backwards so his chest and hips are arched out, drawing attention to his red and leaking shaft. 

Leonard takes a second to play lewdly with Barry’s cock and balls, just to see him squirm and blush. “Pretty,” he says again, for much the same reasons, before he takes himself out of his sleep pants, hurriedly (almost _clumsily_ ) applying the condom and lube. 

He grips Barry’s hip with one hand and uses the other to flick and rub the head of his cock against Barry’s slicked hole. This time, his own loud groan joins Barry’s keening sob. “This,” he rubs over Barry’s hole again for emphasis. “Is for me, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Barry hisses, arms spasming for a hold, nails raking over Leonard’s hips in an attempt to force him inside. “Yes. _For you._ Now do it.” 

“Do what?” Leonard husks, strained and almost stupid with need, but unable to resist this last needling. “What do you want me to do to you?” 

“Fuck me,” Barry says, meeting his eyes. “Please.” 

Barry’s expression roils with discordant ecstasy as Leonard breaches into tight heat. For a suspended moment, Leonard sees his own self-satisfied grin, triumphant and almost nasty. And then Barry groans, tensing only briefly, before bracing himself with one arm against the mirror, leaving humid streaks and fingerprints behind with his sweaty hand. He pushes back against Leonard, challenging, and suddenly Leonard can no longer take his time teasing. There’s just _Barry_ all around, heat and ozone, this gorgeous _hero_ with Leonard’s jeans still obscenely binding his legs, pale skin hot beneath his hands, lightning in his eyes as he stares at Leonard in the mirror, his sharp tongue reduced to a hitching repeat of _Leonard’s_ name. 

This— _Barry_ —is Leonard’s. For now. 

A sound that is equal parts possessive and broken rips from his chest as he digs strong fingers into Barry’s hips and roughly pulls him back and forth to meet each thrust. Barry cries the first time Leonard seats himself fully inside, blunt nails scraping uselessly against the smooth surface of the mirror. When Leonard hits that spot again Barry collapses forward on his elbows. The next hard thrust rocks his weight onto his toes. 

He pistons in and out of Barry, who tries to meet his thrusts until he becomes too off balance and is nearly thrown into the mirror. After that he seems to just _take it_. 

The bedroom becomes awash with their sounds, with their harsh breaths and low moans, the slapping of skin, the slide of Barry’s hands on the glass. Leonard watches Barry struggle to keep his eyes open, to watch himself get fucked against the mirror like Leonard wanted him to _like a good boy_. 

Barry’s eyes widen and he groans, quivering around Leonard. “Christ,” Barry breathes. _“Yes.”_ He wonders if he said the _good boy_ part out loud (very distantly, he also wonders just when he lost this much control over himself, but he also knows that it’s the same day Barry Allen first kissed him). 

He’s close, feels the surge in his belly, the quaking in his legs. Barry’s _wild_ with his oncoming climax, jittery like a live wire, sloppily meeting his thrusts, challenging him for _“more, fuck you”_ and _“harder, please.”_

Leonard reaches out, pulls Barry back against him, and barely prevents them from stumbling. They both hiss, Barry at the new angle, Leonard at the added pressure. 

He quickly finds the rhythm again, deeper than before. Barry’s eyes roll back and his eyelashes touch his cheeks. “Watch,” he rasps in Barry’s ear. When Barry’s eyes only flutter again he reaches up, grasping his jaw and says, _“Watch, Scarlet.”_ He waits for dazed eyes to blink open, until they track how his other hand takes the weight of Barry’s straining cock in his palm and, like before, wraps long fingers one-by-one around him. Barry’s begging is utterly wordless as he jerks deliriously between Leonard’s cock and hand. 

He’s still watching, though, when Leonard’s hand drops from his jaw to his collarbone. He’s still watching when, like his cock, Leonard wraps his fingers one-by-one around his throat. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t have to, because Barry’s already coming again, harder than before, all over Leonard’s hand, some even roping onto the mirror. 

He manages a few more savage thrusts before his climax rides Barry’s, hips stuttering through it, greedily chasing after _more_ of the way Barry writhes on his cock. 

Together they raggedly collapse together against the mirror, the sweat of their skin leaving ghostly impressions on the glass. They kiss roughly through the lush afterglow, and then languidly as it starts to recede. Barry’s mouth is just like his body, starving for every inch of Leonard. 

They part for breath and Barry rests his head against him. “We’re… keeping the big-ass mirror,” he declares through his short breaths. 

“Glad we agree, Scarlet,” Leonard murmurs into sweat-damp hair. Barry laughs, a quiet rush through his nose, before he moves to wrap his hands around Leonard’s head and bring him in again. 

Barry closes his eyes when they kiss, but Leonard keeps his eyes open so he can watch. 

**end**

**Author's Note:**

> Brain: Write a PWP. 
> 
> Me: No. 
> 
> Brain: Write ColdFlash PWP. A pr0ny one. 
> 
> Me: No. Busy. 
> 
> Brain: Cold’s _hands_. WRITE ABOUT HIS HANDS. 
> 
> Me: I mean, yeah, I see your point. But I don’t really have a good idea to write about that, so. 
> 
> Brain: But. _Hands._
> 
> Me: No. If I write, I should write in _The Good In You_. 
> 
> Brain: Okay, I respect that. 
> 
> Brain: *whispers* _…mirror._ >:3
> 
> Me: jfc. fINE.
> 
>  
> 
> Title from: "River" by Bishop Briggs


End file.
